


The Road Less Lonely

by alba17



Category: Being Human, Torchwood
Genre: Crossover, M/M, genre: angst - Freeform, genre: smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-18
Updated: 2010-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:47:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alba17/pseuds/alba17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack traveled a lonely road here on Earth, but sometimes Mitchell was there to make it less lonely. Until Jack came to the end of the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Road Less Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to blue_fjords for the beta. I own nothing - all copyright owned by BBC. Spoilers for Torchwood: Children of Earth (Day Five).

He cracked open his eyelids and slowly the haze began to clear, his vision sharpening. He could feel the blood thrumming through his veins, gaining force with every breath.

He touched his neck where the two puncture wounds were beginning to heal already. Smooth, hardly any blood - Mitchell had licked him clean.

Rolling over in the bed, he reached out his hand to stroke Mitchell's hair, warm and lustrous. So at odds with the chill of his skin, the strands dark and wavy as his fingers combed through them. He skimmed his hand down Mitchell's naked back to the swell of his arse - lingered there, fingers cupping lightly, as he contemplated the man next to him.

They both looked so normal.

Looks were deceiving.

They'd met, as usual, at a dive bar in Bristol. Nowhere near Mitchell's job, which ironically for a vampire, was at a hospital, where blood seeped into the tiniest errand or transaction. They'd rented a room. Mitchell hadn't wanted to take him home and introduce him to his mates – a werewolf and a ghost. That had made Jack laugh. Mitchell attracted the oddballs of the world.

He leaned over, pulled Mitchell's hair away from his neck, and dropped a kiss there, just below his ear.

Mitchell turned his head back to peer at him. "You're back with us, then?" the vampire said. Jack wasn't surprised to see that he looked much more, well, _shiny_ than he had before. His eyes were clear and bright, his skin was flushed (as much as a vampire's could be). He looked vigorous and energetic. Highly edible, in fact. A cloud of desire began to form at the back of his waking mind, as his eyes trailed down Mitchell's svelte yet muscular form.

Jack's fingers traced a meandering path over Mitchell's mounded arse, dipping down before smoothing over the long flat of the back of his thigh. His legs were bent away from Jack, creases and hollows creating alluring shadows. Jack leaned over to lick the back of Mitchell's leg where his knee bent, his hand grasping the meat of the other man's calf. He tasted salt and surprising warmth. The sparse hair of his calf curled vaguely under his palm. The skin there was cooler. Smooth. Inviting him to move his hand down, cupping the back of his foot, a finger trailing over the sole, tickling.

Mitchell gasped slightly in surprise, quickly pulling his foot away, and reached down to grab Jack's hand. "Oi, none of that now." He put Jack's hand on his thickening erection. Turning his head back toward Jack, he captured his lips in a cool kiss while pressing his hand down against Jack's, sharply inhaling at the increased pressure.

Jack's hand tingled against the warm stiffness of the other man's cock lengthening against his palm. He pressed his fingers down more urgently and Mitchell breathed a sigh of pleasure, as their lips moved against each other, hands sliding and grasping smooth flesh, fine hair tickling against fingertips. Jack ran his hands through Mitchell's hair again, grabbing handfuls of deep brown tendrils as he covered Mitchell's neck with kisses and nips, nestling into the hollow at its base.

He'd made the trip to Bristol more and more in the last few months, since the 456. Of all the people he knew in this world, Mitchell was the only one who might understand. Mitchell dealt in death just as Jack did. He knew all about the loss of mortal friends and lovers, over and over, into eternity. And when Mitchell's eyes turned black, hands caressing, teeth sharp and predatory, Jack welcomed the fall into oblivion.

When they'd first encountered each other, there had been a wary attraction, their eyes meeting across a room of chattering pretty young things in formal tuxes and slinky gowns, the sound of champagne flutes clinking around them. As their eyes met throughout the evening, their glances spoke of pleasures and promises hot and secret, and of time infinite and immeasurable.

They'd met a few more times over the following years, coming together in brief sessions of heated intensity. Jack found Mitchell's alternating bouts of cheery camaraderie and smoldering moodiness intriguing – not to mention he was incredibly hot. Jack sensed something different about the man, his experience telling him that he didn't slot neatly into the usual definition of human. The truth emerged when the sex got aggressive one time...

_...nails breeching flesh and walls scraping rough, Mitchell banging into Jack for all he was worth, Jack felt a sharp pain in his neck, then the soft suction of Mitchell's lips suckling at the wound. Mitchell's cock seemed to grow even bigger as he sucked, filling Jack gloriously. Jack came in a phenomenal climax, dimly aware of Mitchell grasping mindlessly at his cock before he blacked out._

He woke up a few minutes later to see Mitchell slumped against the wall, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes empty and glazed.

"So...vampire, huh? That explains a lot," Jack said blearily. He stretched his neck, feeling the puncture wound beginning to heal already. First time he'd ever died from having too much blood sucked out of him. Strange feeling, like a piece of driftwood floating on the ocean.

The salty moistness of Mitchell's cock tasted the same as any other man's; its slick heat filled him with the same intensity. Yet Mitchell was always there, in Bristol, waiting, never changing, brown eyes restlessly roaming, his laugh quick, his hands a blissful grappling in the dark. Mitchell would never change, never age – perhaps never die. That had an appeal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Jack peppered him with kisses, Mitchell felt a lingering apprehension. He still didn't quite believe, after all this time, that Jack could come back to life after what Mitchell did to him. His fingers grazed the puncture marks in Jack's neck as they faded, feeling the familiar craving flicker through his limbs, a faint echo of the tsunami of need that had overcome him shortly before.

Jack. He'd never met anyone else like him. Every cell of his being now vibrated with the man's unique life force, neurons sparking anew, swiftly flowing like spring rivers. He searched Jack's face to make sure he looked normal, that he hadn't suddenly turned into a vampire himself, or a zombie, or god knows what, some outer space alien creature like the ones they had locked up at Torchwood.

He hadn't believed Jack when he had first told him about what he did there. Mitchell himself was very much of the Earth, even though he was no longer exactly "human". His kind had a long history that bound them inseparably to the mortals of this world. He didn't know that much about Jack's life. Jack had given hints here and there; it was clear they shared some experiences over the past century. Mitchell occasionally observed a soldier's flinty gaze passing over his countenance, could see it in the way he held himself apart, coiled and waiting, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

For the most part, Jack amused Mitchell. He chose to interpret Jack's hero pose as an ironic, cartoonish joke and laughed at his over the top flirtatiousness. He was mystified by Jack's refusal to blend in to the times, wearing his trusty RAF great coat and braces decades after their appropriateness had passed. Mitchell made an effort to keep up his self-image as a slightly raffish young hipster no matter the era. Yet Jack clung to his vaguely military costume and it horrified Mitchell. He'd prefer to forget his wartime experiences, the crucible of his vampire existence. He felt only bitterness for those memories, the image of Herrick in his olive-green great coat seared into his mind, eyes dark and menacing as if the devil himself had come to bargain with him. Perhaps he had.

After the 456, Jack had come to Mitchell. He hadn't said what had happened exactly, but Mitchell could see something had broken him. His face was crumpled and careworn, his eyes empty and grey, their usual spark dimmed. He looked thinner. Mitchell held his arms open and Jack fell into them stiffly, holding the other man's waist lightly. Mitchell whispered into his ear, "It's OK," and squeezed him tight. Jack leaned his head against his and Mitchell could feel wetness against his cheek.

"It's not," Jack said quietly. "It's never going to be again."

Over the next few months, Jack achieved a veneer of normality, but there was always something lacking. They joked and bantered and fucked in their usual way, but Mitchell got the feeling Jack's heart wasn't in it. He wasn't quite there. He'd seen the same emptiness in men who'd come back from the Great War, shell-shocked and soulless.

∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼

At the moment, all Mitchell cared about was Jack's hands gripping his hips, his lips on his arse, the slide of his tongue around his arsehole as Mitchell's hands twisted the sheets, head hanging low between arms propped up on elbows. He felt Jack's fingers tighten and twist around his slippery cock as his tongue pushed inside him, and he was lost, collapsing onto the bed with a gasp. He lay there a moment, soothed by the solidity of Jack's weight pressed onto his back, his hard cock stiff against the cleft of his bottom. Even in his drained state, he couldn't help returning the pressure, pushing against the friction, the delicate pucker of skin left sensitized and wanting from Jack's tongue. Jack began slowly, but was soon rutting wildly against him, arms braced on the bed, the thick column of his cock rubbing up and down, its heft and girth tantalizingly on the surface but not entering.

Mitchell was happy just to feel it there, to melt into Jack frantically moving against him, absorbing his heat and energy. Before long, warm liquid spread over his lower back and Jack slumped onto him with a squelching sound, enveloping him in the comforting animal warmth of his sweaty body. Jack pressed a kiss to the back of his neck before curling around him for a few moments of peace.

∼∼∼∼∼∼∼∼

Later, Jack kissed him goodbye as he stood in the doorway, his armour of blue-grey wool in place. He gazed meaningfully into Mitchell's eyes for a moment, standing close with his hand wrapped around the other man's neck. Mitchell searched his face, which was set in grim resignation. The emptiness was still there in Jack's eyes, their vivid blue dull and distant. Mitchell could feel the other man retreating, almost visibly shrinking into the carapace of his trusty coat.

"This is it, isn't it? You're not coming back," Mitchell said.

Jack sighed as if his whole body were weighted down with bricks. "Dunno," he said, pushing a stray lock of Mitchell's hair off his forehead, and gently placing a kiss there. "But all I see here on this planet now is death." He looked off into the distance, face etched with pain. "And it's all my fault." He turned to go and then looked back with a rueful expression. "See you in hell," he said. And with a wink, he was off.

Mitchell never saw him again.


End file.
